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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185801">How to burn a Waterfall</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonnenFlower/pseuds/SonnenFlower'>SonnenFlower</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Black Out, Drinking to Cope, Drunk Consent is Not Consent, Dubious Consent, Excessive Drinking, Grief/Mourning, Heartbreaking, Hurt, M/M, Maybe comfort, Mental Health Issues, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-War, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Waterfall Connection, no coping at all</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:01:58</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,548</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185801</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SonnenFlower/pseuds/SonnenFlower</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Fighting in a war is hard. Knowing your whole family is at danger and losing the one person you thought would be there forever is even harder</p><p>...but living after all of that might be the hardest of it all.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>George Weasley/Blaise Zabini</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Waterfall Connections</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prolog</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>This collection was a stupid idea in on of Hermione’s Nooks chats at first. Then it turned in this amazing project with all the other authors. We have created a whole universe in the background so stay tuned and read the other stories of this collection. They are all intertwined in one way or another and written by amazings authors. It is a pleasure to work with all of you. A special thanks to our amazing Beta KoraKunkel.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>What was he even doing here? He looked around. Everything was the same. The same waterfall, the same pond, the same stone they had spent so many hours on, bathing in the sun when not swimming in the pool. Even the fucking birds were probably the same. Singing, jumping around, like nothing had changed. </p><p> </p><p>Why was he here again?</p><p> </p><p>Right. Lee wanted to dump his half of Fred into the pond. Like flushing him away in a pretty, natural toilet. Just dump it in, and he’s gone forever.  But only half of him would be gone. The other half was securely stored in the pendant of his necklace. George would never understand why Lee got to have half of him. Sure, he was his fiancé, but wasn’t he himself his soulmate? Didn’t a twin count more? </p><p> </p><p>He wasn’t sure, which was strange, usually he was.. Ah well, surely nothing a sip of firewhiskey couldn’t cure. He liked this bottle. It looked so pretty in the flimsy light of the forest and those glittering stones -</p><p> </p><p>‘George, what the hell? Don’t fall over,’ George watched as Lee stood and walked over to him, his hand outstretched. ‘And give me that bottle, I think you’ve had enough. I brought champagne, for later. But let's just do this first.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Yeah, why not flush my brother down the toilet of nature like the shit you give about him?’</p><p> </p><p>‘Sit, George.’</p><p> </p><p>‘Just flush him! Go on!’ A fiery rage was suddenly burning inside of him, he just couldn’t tell whether it was his anger or the firewhiskey. </p><p> </p><p>‘For fucks sake, George. You know as well as I do, that this was <em> his </em> wish! We talked about this, all three of us. I know you prefer to drown yourself in self-pity, but I’ll do whatever it takes to honour his memory. And stop acting like I’m fucking pleased about throwing his ashes here. He asked me to because it means something to him. It means something to us.’ Lee let out a sigh, rubbing his face roughly. ‘Just sit down so we can do this together.’</p><p> </p><p>‘No.’</p><p> </p><p>‘I want to honour his wishes. I want to honour his memory’</p><p> </p><p>‘Blah, blah, blah. As if you had known him only half as good as I did.’ George watched as Lee closed his eyes, obviously trying to quell his anger. Well, George didn’t want him to do that. He was angry and hell if Lee could say he was the better man in the end. ‘He didn’t wanna die, so fuck this honor bullshit. You weren’t even there when he died! You left him! You left him to die by himself! So who are you to talk about honoring him?’</p><p> </p><p>Georges world was spinning. It was spinning much too fast, spiralling around him and he was falling. He was falling again with no hope of ever reaching the ground. Just falling and spiralling and spiralling and falling while the world kept on turning around him as if nothing had ever happened. </p><p> </p><p>Until a pair of blue eyes broke through the whirlwind of colors around him. Not exactly the blue of HIS eyes but blue nevertheless. It was soothing, the eyes helped anchor him. They brought him back to where he had left his body. They were like his personal rock in a roaring sea trying to drown him.</p><p> </p><p>These eyes held so much sorrow, so much pain, but also a strength George could only dream of. And this strength was pulling him closer. Closer to those eyes, closer to this rock. Maybe he could hold on to it. Maybe he could borrow some of their strength.</p><p> </p><p>His arms worked without his input, holding on to this source of calm and this strength still pulling him closer. Closer till his mouth met another, closer till his hands grabbed an arse, closer till he could burrow himself in it. He’d never need to feel so powerless again if he could just hold on to his newfound rock in the roaring sea.</p><p> </p><p>But he was pushed and suddenly he could see clearly how Lee tried to push him away. He closed his eyes, holding on to his illusion of strength, the last solid thing in a spiralling world.</p><p><br/>“Please, I know you want it as well! I can be everything you want me to. You could call me Fred if you want, I wouldn’t mind. Come on,” He could feel Lee begin to shake in his tight grasp. “You want to as well.”</p><p> </p><p>“Get your fucking hands off me,” Lee hissed, but he didn’t try to get away. Sure, Fred had been George’s soulmate, but for Fred, it had always been him and Lee on different levels. Lee would always hold a part of Fred, but George had always been one with Fred and, now that he was gone, George was left feeling half-complete. The other half was gone - forever. But if Lee was part of Fred as well, maybe he could be a small bit of what was missing. So he leaned in again, hoping to find a bit of himself in those eyes.</p><p> </p><p>“I said, hands <em> off </em>.” A sharp slap to his face brought George out of his musing. “What the fuck!” Lees voice was shrill.</p><p> </p><p>“But you kissed me back!” The ‘I can’t handle being alone anymore’ was left unsaid.</p><p> </p><p>“GET AWAY FROM ME!” </p><p> </p><p>Lees screaming felt worse than the slap. George couldn’t move anymore, couldn’t breathe. He looked at his hands. How would one feel when the other was missing? Lost to a world where there should be two but were no longer.</p><p> </p><p>“I want you to listen. I want you to shut up, and not move and listen to what I’m saying. Do I make myself clear?”</p><p> </p><p>George shied away a bit from the sharp voice but stayed apart from that where he was, not saying a word.</p><p> </p><p>“I asked you to come because I didn’t want to do this alone and because I knew. I <em> know </em> that if it was you we were throwing in, Fred would have asked me to come. So, I asked you, and you show up drunk. Which I don’t really mind, but now it’s just adding salt to the wound. Sure, I brought champagne, but <em> fuck </em>George! He’s around your fucking neck!”</p><p> </p><p>How did he even know? He hadn’t told anyone about his pendant. Sure, he spoke to it, but only when he was alone. So there was no possible way Lee could know.</p><p> </p><p>“I –”</p><p> </p><p>“I’m not finished,” Lee was standing now, one hand clenched into a fist, the other held up. George didn’t even try to say something anymore. What for?</p><p> </p><p>“I brought weed to talk, so we could relax. So, we didn’t have to think as much to talk about my <em> fiancé </em> . Fuck. <em> Fuck </em> . I know you’re struggling George, but <em> fuck </em>. I’m struggling too, and I asked you so I wouldn’t be alone. I asked you because you’re my friend, and his brother.”</p><p> </p><p>The world was spinning again. Why was Lee even shouting at him? </p><p> </p><p>“But we’re the same,” George’s voice was only a whisper to the wind and, if someone had bothered to ask, he wouldn’t have even been able to say who he had meant with that statement. Himself and his dead twin brother, or the grieving fiancé that was standing before him, visibly trying not to slap him again.</p><p> </p><p> “You’re nowhere near the same.” Lees voice had become even sharper, spitting the words to George’s feet. Suddenly, George felt alive. Anger welled up in his throat. It was the first feeling, besides grief and heart-wrenching loneliness, he had felt since he last heard his other half laugh in the halls of Hogwarts.</p><p> </p><p>“How would you even know that? Till I lost my ear no one could distinguish us, not even you.” He was bathing in this new feeling. Surrounding himself with it.</p><p> </p><p>“That’s a fucking lie and you know it.” Lees hissing made his anger boil even hotter, newer – more alive. “Never once –” And then there was silence. Lee had cut off his words and George felt the numbness of his loneliness creep back to get him.</p><p> </p><p>“And...and because Fred would never try to fuck his dead brothers’ fiancé.” Another sentence like a slap. But George didn’t feel it anymore. </p><p> </p><p>“Either you leave, or I leave.” Lees words sound numb to him, like they reached him through a tick curtin. </p><p> </p><p>Not being able to move again, the only thing he could do was lift his head and look his best friend in the eyes - his brothers’ fiancé.</p><p> </p><p>“Goodbye, George.”</p><p> </p><p>With a crack, he was all alone again and the numbness finally won over.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>He was trying to build a pyramid out of empty shot glasses on the dirty bar. It being dirty was a huge plus since the stickiness helped him to finish at least the second row - sometimes. His hands weren't the steadiest most of the nights he spent here. The Harbourside Pub was one of those pubs that were always open, where you would meet all the same people every time you stepped in and that only got really busy twice on weekends. First, when the pubs had called the last round, and second, after the closing house of the few clubs that were starting to pop up around the old pub. But he was always here.</p><p> </p><p>The pub felt like something one had forgotten 50 years prior, and by lack of other things to do, just kept existing. For him, it was a nice change of scene. Another place to drink, when his and Fred's flat got too quiet or if only the good stuff was left. There was no reason to drink the good stuff nowadays, and the Burrow had disqualified itself a long time ago. It was always full and loud and buzzing with life no matter how their residents felt, and he couldn’t stand it anymore.</p><p> </p><p>He couldn’t stand <em> their </em> bedroom, <em> their </em> places at the table, <em> their </em> favourite chair in front of the fire. He couldn’t fill <em> their </em> space in the family alone and he didn’t want to try. So, he kept to himself. He might have spent more nights then he should in <em> his </em> bed, but that was neither here nor there as no one would ever know about that.</p><p> </p><p>He emptied another shot of firewhiskey though he was quite sure it was only some sort of cheap coloured booze. It suited him just fine. He tried to place his glass upside down as the fourth floor of his pyramid when the door behind him swung open with a bang and a group of drunk teenagers spilled into his sanctuary. Getting distracted by them, his whole pyramid came crashing down – well wasn’t that symbolic?</p><p> </p><p>Starting to collect the scattered shot glasses – the bartender had stopped handing him breakable glasses after he had broken a pint glass and hadn't noticed the shards that bore into his hands and forearms till someone pointed them out to him. Sam, said bartender, had thrown him out to get someone to clean it up and had forgone breakables since George had come back three hours later with a scantly bandaged arm in an already not fully clean cloth.</p><p> </p><p>Crawling over the dirty floor, he wondered whether its original colouring was this ugly grey-brown that wouldn’t let you see any spots or whether the whole floor was a huge spot in itself. Probably the latter. It was all sticky and you could draw pictures into it while collecting a shot glass from under one of the occupied bar stools. Triumphant, he noticed that only one was still missing.</p><p> </p><p>‘Hi, I like people to acknowledge me before they start crawling between my legs. Not that I mind, but I’d probably offer you a drink first.’</p><p> </p><p>The slightly slurred voice that came from above felt like a velvet blanket surrounding him; a promise of warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. Too bad his reaction was anything but smooth. He tried to sit up straight, bumped his head against the barstool he was currently situated under, shrank back by surprise and tackled the neighbouring stool with his right shoulder. Its occupant was rocking it at that exact moment so he ended up right next to George on the floor. Instead of shrieking or any sign of hurt, the only reaction of his new floor companion was laughter.</p><p> </p><p>‘That's better, anyway.’ It was that velvet voice again, now accompanied by a man that seemed to beslightly younger than him, but definitely not more sober.</p><p> </p><p>‘I think I’ll stay here for a little while; the view is excellent!’</p><p> </p><p>Damn, that chocolate coloured skin of the slightly familiar stranger reminded him of Lee, who inevitably reminded him of Fred. Would it feel like hope touching him as it had with Lee?</p><p> </p><p>‘Mine isn’t too bad either.’</p><p> </p><p>The words spilled from his lips before he could think about saying anything else. Not that thinking was one of his main strengths this last weeks anyway., but he still had some illusions concerning his own situation.</p><p> </p><p>Just as he wondered what in Merlin's name could come after such a cheesy line or if everything needed was already said, he spotted the missing shot glass just under the barstool behind the stranger.</p><p> </p><p>He sat up and leaned over him to grab the offending glass, but the man now beneath him had other ideas. The guy grabbed for his hip while George tried to reach the shot glass andot surprisingly, his sense of equilibrium was not capable to hold his weight any longer. So, he tumbled face-first into the barstool, kicking off its occupant: a girl that had come in with the dark-skinned stranger, who landed with a loud crash right next to them on the dirty floor.</p><p> </p><p>Getting up and offer her a hand was the next sensible conclusion, but he was otherwise occupied since he was completely tangled with the dark-skinned stranger under him. So, his efforts only resulted in some kicks to vulnerable places for both of them and the girl was up on her own, way before the two men got themself sorted. </p><p> </p><p>‘Fucking idiots, could you move this to some dark alley or something, at least? This is low, even for your non-existent standards, Blaise.’ Looked like the girl hadn’t taken the crash all too well.</p><p> </p><p>‘Ah shut it. Just don’t look if you can’t stand perfection.’ Dark and handsome responded and flipped the girl a two-finger salute. She just rolled her eyes and climbed back onto her stool.</p><p> </p><p>During that exchange, George had finally grabbed the offending shot glass to bring it back to his collection. Sam stopped getting him a full one if he had lost another glass around the time he had stopped giving him breakable glasses. Stupid rules!</p><p> </p><p>He raised the shot glass triumphantly in his outstretched hand.</p><p> </p><p>‘Sam, I found it, I get a new one!’</p><p> </p><p>But while speaking, his equilibrium escaped him once more and this time he ended face-first on the floor, his hand stretched out behind his back to protect the unbreakable glass. He wouldn’t get a full one if he couldn’t give this one back because it broke!</p><p> </p><p>Back on eye level with the dark-skinned man – Blues or something, wasn’t it? – he shook his head, looking a bit distraught.</p><p> </p><p>‘That didn’t work as planned.’ However, his face lit up as a new shot glass floated from the bar into his sight of view. ‘But better than I feared!’</p><p> </p><p>He smirked up at Blues’ face holding the glass between them. ‘Now the view is perfect!’ And emptied his new shot glass without a hitch. Very unsurprisingly, fast movements were still not working for him and George threatened to end up with his face against the floor once more. This time, however, dark hands prevented the collision.</p><p> </p><p>Blues had, at some point, sat himself up – when had that happened? – with his back against the bar and looked a bit dazzled at his hand full of Georges head.</p><p> </p><p>When the red-head looked up, a thought crossed his mind. This was the view of Crookshanks! The beast had relocated to the Burrow together with its bushy head owner. He wasn’t sure why, something about family or so. He didn’t really care.</p><p> </p><p>Only the two of them had occupied a lot of the spaces Fred had left empty, and it felt to him as if they had replaced <em> him </em>. Another reason not to go back to the Burrow anymore.</p><p> </p><p>But being a cat must have its merits. Crookshanks was always patted and cooed at and loved, he could try that for himself! He could be a cat for now! Cat-George crawled up the warm leg in front of him and rested his head in his chosen pillows’ lap.</p><p> </p><p>This was nice! Warm and cosy so he rubbed his face deeper into his pillow and purred. He was a bit startled as his purr was answered by a low moan and his pillow suddenly felt harder than before, but he was a cat, what did he care about strange humans?</p><p> </p><p>He probably should have cared as, just a few seconds later, Sam threw them out of the pub with a lazy swish of his wand.</p><p> </p><p>‘You know the rules by now! See you tomorrow.’ Was the last thing heard before the door slammed shut and he was standing on the street. All alone again, without a drink and with nowhere to go but an empty flat full of sickening happy memories that hadn’t stopped haunting him yet.</p><p> </p><p>‘We could finish what you started at my place if you like, it’s not far.’</p><p> </p><p>What he started? He hadn’t started anything! He had been alone on the street just seconds ago! But not going home sounded perfect.</p><p> </p><p>‘Sure, lead the way.’</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This chapter took much too long! Don’t worry I won’t stay away for that long again. Life was just a bit of a 2020 and writing this fic made me so sad. I hope you’ll enjoy the new chapter!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Waking up feeling disorientated was a common enough occurrence by now, so George wasn’t too surprised by the state he was in. He tried grabbing the hangover potion drunken-George usually left at the nightstand but came back empty-handed. That was strange though. He didn’t usually forget. Sometimes he would find a bottle firewhiskey, or on really rare occasions a glass of water in the morning, but nothing? That was a first.</p><p>Opening his eyes, he startled. Sure, waking up disoriented was common enough by now, but waking up not knowing the room he was in, definitely wasn’t.</p><p>Taking a deep breath – his head threatening to kill him – he tried to take stock of the situation. He was lying in a bed. That was good. He was alone. That was a fact. He was naked. That was probably a good thing? He would take it as such until he found signs that indicated differently.</p><p>The room around him was painted in bright white and deep anthracite, with not much in it at all. It looked like it was cut right out of one of those magazines for interior design Lee used to bring to their flat - stylish and cold. Panicking for a second, he got up to have a look at the only picture situated at the chest of the drawer on the far left wall.</p><p>Ok, there was no Lee in the picture – thank fuck. The picture showed two boys and a girl, all in Slytherin school robes. The handsome, dark-skinned boy in the middle had his arms slung around his friends. He wouldn’t really mind if this room turned out to be that man's room, granted that he was older now then in that picture. A picture of an older version of that boy falling from a bar stool crept into his mind. Might be his man after all. Tangled limbs – Sam kicking them out – confusing thoughts about Lee – some memories about snogging, but no face with it – the colour blue?</p><p>No this was senseless, he needed some real strong hangover potion and probably a shower, considering he was naked and aching like fuck – literally! Did, being naked and aching, count as a bad thing? George wasn’t sure, but since it was the good kind of aching he hadn’t felt in much too long, it probably wasn’t, was it?</p><p>He was wondering if his mysterious host would be in a similar state and whether he should stay for a morning shower and maybe some sex he could actually remember, or if leaving unnoticed would be the better choice. If he’d just known who he was staying with. Damn it, he didn’t even know much about the guy, besides the children’s picture and somehow the association with the colour blue, he really couldn’t decide whether to stay for some more action or not based on the knowledge gained from a children's picture. George still had some standards – not many, but some. Like the bloke being of age for example. The school robes really did not narrow down the  century by much.</p><p>Trying to get up to get a closer look at the picture made the decision quite easy. Throwing up on a rug was rarely a sign to stay, especially for sex. He would only feel even more nauseated and even in his state, he knew that that would never end well. The world was still turning like a rollercoaster even while he was kneeling on the floor. There was no way sex was a good idea at the moment. So, finding a floo or a door leading outside were his only options. He had tried apparating from a home that was warded once before, and it hadn’t been pretty. So that idea was out. Also, some would say apparating drunk with a hangover would be a bad idea as well and George knew for a fact that both were quite easy to accomplish. Still, he could apparate from outside and for that, he needed his clothes.</p><p>So, he started searching for his wand to summon them, but it was gone. Where the fuck was that thing? This was ridiculous. He hated searching for stuff, that’s what accio was for after all and looking on the floor was certainly not helping his nausea either. Stupid wand. He’d definitely start wearing a vial of hangover potion on his necklace once he was home and could get his hands on some, he decided on a whim. He knew that Fred would have gotten a kick out of sharing neck space with the blessed concoction. He wasn’t sure if it was poetic or ironic – he couldn’t really think with the headache and nausea following his every move/thought – but Fred would definitely have laughed about it, wouldn’t he?</p><p>But, to more pressing matters, he needed his wand, now! Even though he was planning on making an unnoticed exit, he couldn’t leave his puke on the rug. That just wasn’t done.</p><p>He usually kept his wand in his trousers. He should start with his trousers – maybe his wand was in a pocket! But where were his trousers?</p><p>Looking through the room, George could spot a few pieces of clothing – how the hell had his boxer briefs ended up tangled in the ceiling light? His trousers; however, were suspiciously missing. Finding his vest, he pulled it on, but without his wand he had no chance to get to his briefs. Who the fuck had ceilings as high as this anyway?</p><p>Still missing both his wand and his trousers, he left the room clad in nothing but his vest. Hadn’t he worn Fred’s leather jacket as well? Well, another thing he’d need to find before he left. Or had he left the jacket in their flat? His throbbing head was not making thinking any easier.</p><p>Stepping outside the room at least held a pleasant surprise. He found his clothes neatly folded on a dresser just outside the door. Well, not all of it. His trousers were still missing, but now he had socks, shoes, a shirt and most importantly the leather jacket. Who really needed trousers anyway? Remembering his boxers on the top of the ceiling light he sighed. Not only did he needed his trousers, but even more importantly he needed his wand. A short search with too much movement and a fair bit of retching confirmed his suspicion. His wand was nowhere to be found so it must be in his trousers - right? He couldn’t have lost his wand, could he?</p><p>He wasn’t even sure if he cared all that much. If needed he could always buy a new one. He had saved enough thanks to the success of their joke shop. It was just a piece of wood belonging to a boy, that died with his brother when a curse hit a wall, wasn’t it? It wasn’t working properly anymore anyway. Or was it just his magic that was messed up? Who knew? Maybe he should confront that problem again when he was sober? Was there even a problem when he was sober? Maybe, maybe not, he wasn’t sure. But then his uncle Bilius had never had problems casting flowers from his penis, after exing the traditional bottle of firewhiskey at family gatherings, or that's what he remembers Fred saying at Bill's wedding, so trying sober probably wasn’t even worth the effort.</p><p>While deep in thoughts his feet had carried him along the hallway and down some stairs. Best to trust in his muscle memory anyway - not that he had any other left. A voice was what finally pulled him out of his musing.</p><p>“Stop fussing I’m fine - just go back to bed!” That voice resonated with something in his body he long thought forgotten. “I mean it Pansy, go back to bed. I really need to be somewhere else!”</p><p>“And where would that be, oh all-knowing one? In bed with last night’s conquest? The bloke couldn't even stand when you two were thrown out of the club. Don’t even get me started on the moral aspect of it all. How does that even work? Or is that why you need to go back? Didn’t you get your fix yet? Or did you pick up yet another random stranger from the wayside to help your fragile sense of feeling alive? I’m just worried, this is not you! I -” The woman's voice had become higher and higher with every word and George just rolled his eyes. They - Pansy, wasn’t it? - sounded just like all his siblings, with the exception of Percy, every time they reached him. There was a reason one could close their floo after all! But this man had yet to learn that lesson - maybe he could help with that!</p><p>Pansy’s voice turned into a gasp when he entered the room - which appeared to be a kitchen - and took a cup from the shelf. “You don’t mind, if I help myself to some coffee?” It was more of a rhetorical question, as he was filling his cup already, leaning against the sink and facing the fireplace as if he wouldn’t have a care in the world. Still naked from the waist down, with the exception of his shoes and socks. </p><p>He gave the man lounging on a beanbag a once over. So he was definitely the handsome dark-skinned man from the picture and no old creep, but not a child either. He might be his age or a bit younger. True to the picture in his room, the man was absolutely stunning. He could have done much worse for himself. Sipping his coffee and trying to keep it down he gave the woman in the fireplace a short nod. “You must be Pansy. I’m so sorry I had to interrupt your lovely little quarrel, but you see, my underpants are stuck in the ceiling lamp and I can find neither my trousers nor my wand.  I really could do with  some help getting them down. I’m sure you can relate how easy things get up and how hard it is to get them down again. So would you mind if I borrow Mr handsome here for a second so he can lend me a hand? I’m sure I can make it quick.” He ended his little speech with a wink,</p><p>“Oh honestly, you two really seem to deserve each other.” was all Pansy huffed as answer before her head disappeared with a plop.</p><p>“I hope you didn’t mind my little intervention, but it sounded like you needed a little help.”</p><p>“I appreciate it. However, enough about that, you said you needed a helping hand?” The eyes of the man travelled down his body, which was standing at attention to this bold examination. George only raised an eyebrow when the man grabbed his hand and led him back to the bedroom. It could be so much worse - he could be at his flat right now, he could be alone and completelysober, or he could be heading to a room he’d just vomited in and hadn’t cleaned up afterwards. But luckily, for now, he had already forgotten about that.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Kudos, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome. 💙</p><p>If you liked this please check out my other works and my authors page Sonnen Flower over at fb 🌻</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Somehow George and Blaise established a routine over the last few weeks. They’d go about their days - well Blaise did whatever Blaise did on a usual day, and George mainly spent his time at the Harbourside Pub. Sometimes he went to his and Fred’s shop first to do one thing or another, but more often than not he went straight to the pub - until they would meet again later at night.  Then  he would spend the night at Blaise’s. George hadn’t slept in his own bed at all in those weeks. He had woken up on the stairs again once, and on a bench in the park twice, but never in his bed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still today was different. It was already past one in the morning, and Blaise still hadn’t turned up. At least he thought it would be around one. The before club crowd was just gone, and the after hadn’t arrived yet. So it was probably around one  on a Friday or Saturday. It was strange because usually Blaise came much earlier, and that was a problem because Sam only tolerated a certain amount of drunkenness. Since he had thought  he would have left a few hours ago he had sailed over that line quite a while back. That was fine though as long as he was sitting, but Sam would notice when he got up. Again that was fine if Blaise would come so that he could leave, but he needed the toilet - and soon! Sam would notice then, and he would need to leave. He didn’t even know how to get to Blaise as he always apparated  them straight through the wards, and he couldn’t do that without him. So if he’d go to the toilet he’d have to go home - he didn’t want to go home, but did he have another option? Maybe–</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t even think about it!” Sam’s voice was quite annoyed. “Out you go. You know the rules!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George grumbled something even he couldn’t understand, and tried to get up without hitting his head on the table. Why was the table the same height as his head? Someone grabbed him under his arms and helped him up. Now his head wasn’t at the same height as the tables any longer! That was great! Had Blaise showed up after all? But even so the man besides him was quite blurry he was definitely not looking like a chocolate bar. He looked more like milk. No that wasn’t Blaise. Where was he? Had he left him here? Why did he leave as well? Fred has left! So, when even Fred left, why would Blaise stay? He didn’t even register the cold air. Fred had left, hadn’t he? Maybe he should go check! That sounded like a reasonable idea. Go check for Fred, and with that thought he disappeared from the dimly lit street.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>—</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George was woken by someone shaking him. If Fred was waking him because he had another genius idea containing the words boggy and Ginny, he would kill him. Homicide was a very real option right about now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell let me sleep man -” Opening his eyes George was confronted with reality once more. It was Lee that was shaking him, Fred had left him. Fred had left him with nothing but an empty flat and Lee acting like a saint, not caring about what losing Fred meant for him. Well fuck, what was Lee thinking waking it up from the safety of a good dream? He didn’t have much of them anymore. “What are you doing here anyway? This is his bed!” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, for Merlin’s sake,” Lee's voice was a bit unclear George thought, but that might also have been the fog in his brain. Had he been drinking? Had he stopped drinking? Did he even go to bed? His musing was very rudly interrupted by no one else then Lee. What was the idiot thinking sitting on Freds bed? He wasn’t even grieving, was he? He was just going on with his life as if he hadn’t lost everything. But maybe he hadn’t. Maybe only George's world had crumbled like a card house in the wind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my bed too, you know,” Lee pointed out.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For fuck sake, that idiot didn’t have a right to call this his bed. It was Freds! And Lee didn’t even need it, he was doing fine. So why couldn’t he just leave it and go?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This was his room, so it is his bed, not yours! He paid for it and I need it more anyway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was easier to focus on the problem at hand, then remembering that he was all alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He paid for it off the bat, but it is half mine. I paid back every knut,” Lee’s muffled words were swirling through the room like a cold wind of something George didn’t want to think about. It had a feel of reality to it. “So, if you don’t mind. Evacuate my bed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“THIS IS NOT YOUR BED IT IS HIS BED!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Volume, George. I’m far too high for shouting, and I’m not in the mood for a serious discussion. I paid for this bed therefore, it’s mine.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He really wanted to punch that idiot. When he tried though  he only hit the wall. Well better than nothing probably. At least his hurt had a focus now. His hand was burning and George relished that feeling. That was his kind of reality.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, how the hell did you even get in here? I warded the flat before I went outside.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did what? This was his flat. Well his and Freds, but Fred didn’t need it at the moment - did he? The idiot couldn’t keep him out could he? Was that why he had to sleep on the stairs last week when he thought he was too drunk to enarming the wards? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> flat. Maybe it's yours as well. But probably more mine! You can’t keep me out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>What an arse. Lee couldn't keep him out of Fred’s and his flat. Not that he was home very often, but that was not the point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I wanted to be alone! For fucks sake George, I’m hurting too. I’ve warded Fred out during fights before, I don’t understand,” he added, mostly for himself, obviously not caring if George heard him or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>George had enough. That piece of shit even told him to his face, that his brother hadn’t meant anything to him. He had even thrown him out of his own flat. It was just too much. His head was swirling again. All the noises were just too much. Maybe he could speak more quietly?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is my fucking flat. So get OUT OF HIS BED!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Interesting - he had started shouting again, even though he didn’t want to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Again, I paid for a third of the rent! And I currently pay for half, so it’s also my flat. Again, I’m too high for a serious conversation. Far. Too. High. So leave, so I can be not high and we can talk tomorrow.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sure, Lee had been partying and got high, and hadn't thought about Fred at all. Maybe he even had a one night stand - maybe he was bringing other men back to their flat. To Fred's flat, to Freds BED!</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“THIS IS HIS BED!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>No, not shouting didn’t work anymore - strange. The fog in his brain was a strange thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ten points to Gryffindor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee wasn’t looking at him anymore. That was good - he shouldn't have been looking at anyone besides Fred and Fred was gone, so he shouldn’t look at anyone at all. If he would leave now, maybe everything would be good again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Get. Out. This is my bed. I have had sex in this bed. I have slept in this bed. It is my bed. Please, and I’m only saying this one more time, get out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. You Get. Out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh for fucks sake. For actual Merlins fucking sake. Can’t you let me have his and my bed? I slept here for years. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Years</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Let me fucking have it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee didn’t make any sense. No sense at all. If he has slept in this bed for so long, why did he need it now? Or maybe he did? Did he?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And why would I do that?” The fog was messing with his tongue. Why was the fog messing with his tongue? He only wanted to be left alone. He wanted people to not leave him anymore. But Fred had left even so they had sworn each other to always stay together. Fred had left, and so had Lee the last time they had spoken.  “Last time – last time we talked you walked out!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Walked out? </span>
  <em>
    <span>Walked out</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Lee was moving too much. George couldn’t focus him anymore. He was swirling around the room. Somewhere. “You call throwing yourself at me, and me being upset and angry </span>
  <em>
    <span>walking out</span>
  </em>
  <span>? You’re more fucking delusional than I thought.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ok he could locate the words, but those were hard words. Why wasn’t Lee using easy words? Well he could do hard words as well! Stupid stuck up slapper.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not del–delus–sional.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re drunk.” Lee sounded a bit annoyed when he said it. He had no right to be annoyed. And anyway he wasn’t drunk. Just a bit more than tipsy. And he was pissed because Lee wasn’t leaving. See not drunk, just pissed. Idiot Lee couldn’t tell the difference.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No! I’m only pissed.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re absolutely wasted. Sloshed! I’m not going to argue with a drunk man. Get out of his bed the second you need to vomit, because I refuse to clean up your mistakes. And I will call Ginny to Bat-Bogey Hex you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lee was turning to the door. At least George thought he was going for the door. Better to get up and check. The bed had started to circle anyway. Better to get out for a bit till the bed behaved again. The bed was probably misbehaving because it wanted to be rid of Lee as well. Yes that sounded plausible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thought you were better than this.” The door closed behind Lee, but the words were still hanging in the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, the better me is dead!” was only heard by an emotionless wooden door.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>One or two more chapters to go people. I'm a bit nervouse and hope you will like the conclution. It's all outlined by now, I'm just not sure if will fit all in on chapter.</p><p>If you enjoy this fic, go and check out the other fics from this collection and if you like my writing, go and check out my author account Sonnen Flower on fb.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Now go one read the other stories untill I post the next chapter ;) </p><p>And please leave us all some love and comments - we are authors, we live from them!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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